No Good Deed
by Romantique The Original
Summary: No good deed shall go unpunished. It's a bad time for Gary while Chuck is, well, Chuck. Marissa, Crum, Bernie, Lois and Cat are along for the ride. A Thanksgiving holiday tale.


Title: No Good Deed

Author: Romantique

Email:

Classification: A Gary-centric episode.

Rating: T - Suitable for teens, 13 years and older, with some minor coarse language.

Summary: No good deed shall go unpunished. It's a bad time for Gary while Chuck is, well, Chuck. Marissa, Crum, Bernie, Lois, and Cat are along for the ride.

Disclaimer: Early Edition fan fiction occurs during Season 2.

Legal: These characters do not belong to me. I'm just a fan and have not made a dime. Please email me to obtain permission to post.

_Thanksgiving Night_

Another holiday came and _almost_ went. It was 10:45 p.m. Thanksgiving night when Gary Hobson finally arrived home after a very long day of doing the Paper's bidding. Such had been Gary's life for well over a year now, and for the Paper, holidays were just another day.

He inadvertently left his loft for the entire day with no heat and now, it was both dark and chilly. Gary flipped on the lights to his sparsely furnished urban space, cranked up the radiator heat, and began to unbundle himself of his cumbersome coat, scarf, cap, and gloves. Now that he was done with the day's business, he tossed the Paper on top of a pile of many others.

Chilled, tired, and absolutely famished, a biscuit was all he had eaten all day. One biscuit was hardly enough to sustain a man who had run at least 10 miles in the day's heroic pursuits, and he had the dull headache stemming from low blood sugar to prove it. He found that nothing was open Thanksgiving night in the way of food, including his own bar. McGinty's closed early at 4 p.m. so that Gary's employees could go home and enjoy dinner with their families.

Blowing warmed puffs of breath into his chilled clasped hands, Gary headed for the kitchen. Why he was walking toward his empty refrigerator, he didn't know other than it was a habit. It had been weeks since he had time to go the grocery store. The emptiness of his refrigerator shelves reflected of his lack of a love life which felt the loneliest on holidays.

Gnawing hunger pangs in his empty stomach suddenly stopped in their tracks at the mere sight of a plate piled high with holiday food, nicely wrapped in clear wrap, and sitting on the top shelf of his ice box: sliced turkey, cornbread stuffing, and mashed potatoes covered in gravy accompanied by spears of green broccoli. There was also a small bowl of whole cranberry sauce and a generous slice of pumpkin pie wrapped in the same clear wrap on a smaller plate. Near the larger plate lay a note that said, "_Gar, Saved you some of the T' Day turkey and fixings. Enjoy! Chuck"_

"_Good ol' Chuck," _Gary thought to himself with a smile. _"Leftovers from McGinty's Thanksgiving menu."_

The cold dinner plate was placed in the microwave and the "reheat" button set. With the heat from the radiator kicking in nicely, Gary toed off his sneakers and left the running microwave to change into a comfortable pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. When he returned to the kitchen, he grabbed a knife and fork and found a lone bottle of beer in the back of his empty fridge, and he quickly left the place setting and the beer on the dining table. The cranberry sauce and the warmed plate of food soon joined the beer and the cutlery. Very happy at the sight of the full, traditional holiday meal, Gary sat down and savored each and every bite of his surprise, washing it down with the amber beverage. His hunger headache quickly subsided. After he literally cleaned his plate and the bowl of cranberry sauce, he returned to the fridge to retrieve that enticing piece of pie.

After he was filled with Thanksgiving comfort food, tryptophan from the turkey, and a beer chaser, all Gary wanted to do was crawl his tired body into his warm, inviting bed. He stacked his dishes in the kitchen sink and turned out the lights behind him. Then, he turned on his alarm clock, pulled down his bed covers, and climbed into bed. He was fast asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow with a look of utter contentment on his face.

_The Day After Thanksgiving …_

_6:30 a.m._

The clock-radio alarm went off at 6:30 sharp, immediately followed by Cat's meow and the thud of the Paper hitting the front door. Gary took in a deep breath and opened his eyes. His socked feet slowly hit the hardwood floor. As he stumbled towards the front door to pick up the Paper, he had to steady himself a couple of times. He was dizzy. The unsettling sensation became even more apparent after he opened the door and bent down to pick up tomorrow's edition of the Chicago Sun Times, today. Cat gave another soulful meow from the hallway before scampering inside the warm flat. Slowly, Gary stood up, and he began to feel woozy and had to steady himself by holding onto the doorframe. His eyes could not focus on the Paper's front page.

"_Whoa. What the …?"_ he uttered to himself, as his hand went up to his forehead in an effort to steady his spinning head.

A moment later, he turned to go back inside and closed the door. All he wanted to do was to lie still. His trek back to his bed seemed like a very long one, but he finally made it. Placing the Paper on his nightstand, he crawled back into bed and drew the covers up over his head. He lay still and waited for the spinning to stop.

The next time Gary opened his eyes, he saw that the clock read 9:20 a.m. In a start, he sat up only to be faced with a sickening wall of nausea. There was no doubt about it ... he was sick. He reached for the phone on his nightstand and quickly dialed McGinty's.

"Marissa?" he asked upon hearing someone answer the phone. "Is that you?"

"Where are you?" Marissa could immediately tell something was wrong, as he was atypically late for their morning breakfast meeting. "Gary, are you okay?" she asked with concern in her voice.

"No," Gary pensively answered, "I'm sick."

"You're sick? I'll be right there," Marissa told Gary and hung up the phone. Coming from her office downstairs, she and her guide dog, Spike, were at his door in mere minutes. She gave a light rap on the door and then entered the unlocked door.

"Gary?" she cried out, worried about her friend.

"Over here," Gary uttered from his bed. "I'm in bed."

Tapping her cane, Marissa and Spike navigated their way towards Gary, until she felt the side of the mattress hit her leg. Gary reached up and over for her nearest forearm and she felt for his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. His hand felt cool and clammy. He breathed a sigh of relief as he finally had some help.

"Gary, tell me what happened," Marissa said as she sat down on the edge of his bed. She felt for his face. It felt as cool and clammy as his hand.

"I dunno. I'm dizzy ... my head's pounding. I feel like I'm gonna hurl." Speaking caused Gary to breathe heavier. "The room ... is spinning." He paused for a beat. "I don't understand. I was fine yesterday," he explained, sounding absolutely miserable. "The Paper," Gary continued.

"Oh, Gary," Marissa interrupted him. "You're in no shape to take care of the Paper. You need someone to take care of _you_."

At that very instant, Chuck bounded into the room. "Hey, Gar. Marissa told me you were sick."

As the words left Chuck's mouth, Gary could feel himself becoming even more so. "Ohhhhhh," Gary extemporaneously moaned. "I'm gonna to throw up," he announced with great urgency.

"Can you make it to the bathroom?" Marissa asked.

Chuck helped his dizzy best friend out of bed and to the bathroom, nearby. Then, he stood outside the door as he and Marissa helplessly listened to their friend heave the contents of his stomach into the toilet.

"He's worried about the Paper," Marissa announced from the corner of Gary's bed to Chuck across the small room. "He can't take care of the Paper, today."

"No kidding'," Chuck agreed, still hearing his buddy throwing his guts up on the other side of the door. "We're going to have to do it," he stated the obvious to Marissa.

"Hey, Gar," Chuck called from the other side of the bathroom door. "Are you okay in there?"

Gary pleaded, "I need help standing up. Everything's spinning."

Chuck went into the bathroom and led his pal to the sink. Chuck grabbed a clean wash cloth, wet it under the faucet, and rung out the excess water. He also grabbed a glass and filled it with water.

"Here, swish that awful taste out of your mouth," Chuck instructed. "It'll make you feel better."

Gary did as he was told, steadying himself by leaning onto Chuck. He looked as white a sheet.

"Do you feel any better after getting whatever that was out of your system?" Chuck asked, looking at his suddenly pale friend.

Gary shook his head no and indicated he needed to go back to hugging onto the toilet. Chuck helped get him there and tried not to watch as his friend violently heaved up mostly liquid into the bowl.

"I don't think I'm cut out for this nursing stuff," Chuck complained. "I have a weak stomach, you know."

"Ohhhhhh," Gary moaned in between attacks, holding onto his stomach as if it was trying to leave him.

Chuck wiped his friend's face and mouth with the wet, cool cloth. "Hang in there, buddy," he tried to think of something positive to say.

Upon hearing all the commotion, Marissa made her way to the entrance of the bathroom. "You poor thing," Marissa said with much sympathy.

"Yeah, I know," Chuck answered. "This is too much stress for me."

"I wasn't saying poor you," Marissa rebuked. "I was saying poor Gary!"

Gary was so out of it, not a word of their banter even registered. He remained there on the floor in a heap, afraid to leave the bathroom just yet. "Uhhhhh," was all he was able to say. He looked as bad as he felt.

"Chuck, I think we need to call Gary's folks," Marissa said. "We have Gary, the Paper, and McGinty's to take care of today, all at once. We're going to need some help."

"Yeah, you're right," Chuck said, holding onto his friend as Gary began retching all over again. "Marissa, he doesn't look so good," he tried to keep his voice down.

"Do you have his parents' number?" she asked Chuck.

"Yeah, it's in my cell," Chuck answered as he fumbled in his inside coat pocket with one hand while holding onto to his buddy with the other. He found the phone and scrolled through for the number.

"Marissa, here's the phone. I'm hitting the 'call' button now," and he handed her the phone.

"Mrs. Hobson. Okay, well then, Lois. This is Gary's friend Marissa," she began. "Your son is really sick. I think you need to come right away and take care of him." Marissa then answered Lois' questions. "He's at home. He woke up feeling bad. He can't talk right now or he would have called you himself."

Lois could hear her son vomiting again in the background. She assured Marissa that she and Bernie would be there as soon as they could safely do so.

When finished with the call, Marissa handed the phone back to Chuck and relayed the gist of the conversation. Still on the floor, Gary's head was lying on the toilet seat. He moaned as his eyes closed, and he drifted off to sleep.

"I need to get him back into bed," Chuck announced to Marissa. "He can't sleep here."

"Noooooo," Gary overheard something about moving and shook his head in protest, suddenly throwing up all over again. Only this time, he was dry heaving.

Chuck waited until this latest wave of nausea passed and then, he encouraged Gary to stand up and to allow him to steer him back into bed. By this time, Gary was so out of it that he became very compliant. Chuck asked Marissa to sit close to Gary while he ran to the kitchen and returned with a large empty bowl. He told Gary and Marissa that the bowl was nearby in case another wave came before they could get him back to the bathroom. That information seemed to allow Gary to rest easier. Chuck left again for a moment to rewet the wash cloth. He returned and began to moisten his friend's very pale lips. Gary still felt very clammy.

"There, now. Does that feel good?" Chuck asked, continuing to dab the cool water on his friend's mouth and face.

Gary nodded with his eyes at half mast. Lying in bed, the spinning slowed. "I'm tired," he whispered, and then finally closed his eyes.

"It's okay. You rest, buddy," Chuck tried to reassure his friend. "Don't you worry about a thing." Chuck then pulled the covers over his friend.

Soon, Gary was sleeping soundly.

"Wow," Marissa exclaimed to Chuck. "What do you think it is?"

"I don't know. Gary _never_ gets sick," Chuck answered. He was clearly concerned. "Maybe he picked up a 24 hour bug or something in his travels. You know, he hangs out in some pretty unsanitary places with some pretty unsavory people. Whatever it is, it came on fast. I think we need to keep a close eye on him."

"While he's resting and we're waiting for his parents, do you want to start going through the Paper?" Marissa asked.

Chuck picked up the folded Paper from the nightstand and laid it out on the foot of the bed, coming up with a strategy for the day as Gary slept.

_Later that morning …_

At twenty minutes past 11 o'clock, Lois and Bernie entered Gary's residence. Marissa was seated nearby Gary's bed.

"Thank goodness you're here," Marissa uttered as she received hugs from Gary's parents.

Seeing that their son was sleeping, the Hobsons kept their voices down.

"Yeah, I put the pedal to the metal on the ol' Gray Ghost, and we made it here in record time," Bernie announced in an exaggerated whisper. "How's Gary doing?"

"He's thrown up everything he had in his stomach ten times over," Marissa informed them. "He's out of it ... said he was really tired," Marissa continued, "and he seems to be running a temperature."

"He probably needs the sleep." Lois walked over to her son and felt his forehead. "Oh, dear," Lois remarked. "He _does_ feel warm. We need to get some fluids in him, or he'll become dehydrated."

"He dry heaved as recently as ten to fifteen minutes ago," Marissa added. "I don't know that he can keep any liquid down right now."

"How about some ice chips?" Bernie suggested. "I'll go downstairs and bring up some ice chips."

As soon as Bernie left the room, Lois asked Marissa, "What about the Paper?"

Marissa quickly answered, "Chuck is out taking care of a couple of items right now. He should be back soon. After you get yourself situated with Gary, I need to leave and go downstairs to take care of a few things."

Lois went to the bathroom and returned with a cool, wet cloth. She placed it over her son's forehead. He stirred for a second at the sudden contact of the cool damp cloth against his feverish skin, but then, he fell right back to sleep.

"I've got Gary covered if you need to leave for awhile. I'm going to try and get some fluids into him and let him rest," Lois said to the others. "My poor boy," she continued, looking down at her son, pushing his damp hair back off his warm forehead. "This is so strange. Gary _never_ gets sick."

Marissa couldn't help but remember that was exactly what Chuck had said.

_Later that afternoon …_

A few of hours passed when Bernie and Crum entered Gary's residence. They were carrying a couple of sandwiches.

"How's the kid doing?" Crum asked Lois.

"He's sleeping," Lois answered in hushed tones, "either sleeping or dry heaving. He hasn't been able to keep any liquid down except for a few ice chips. He's just heaves it back up." She looked very concerned.

"We brought you a sandwich," Bernie told his wife.

Lois nodded. "Thank you. I'll eat in a few minutes."

Crum interjected, "If you can't get any liquids into him in the next few hours, we may need to get him to the hospital because he may need an IV of fluids and electrolytes."

Bernie added, "Crum was telling me that some staff called in sick before the lunch shift today. They're all complaining of some kind of stomach bug or flu."

About that time, Marissa entered the room. "McGinty's also received similar calls from two customers who ate here yesterday. And I just sent one of the cooks home. He was sick, just like Gary."

Interested in this latest news, Crum surmised that this must be some kind of flu or something like it, although he noted that Gary wasn't around yesterday.

Marissa said that her first thought was food poisoning, except Gary hadn't eaten at McGinty's, yesterday.

"Oh, contraire," Chuck remarked upon entering the room. "I left Gary a plate of the Thanksgiving faire in his fridge yesterday." Chuck went to the refrigerator and opened the door. "Oh, he ate it alright. His fridge has returned to its usual state of empty." Then, he noticed dishes stacked in the sink.

"How are you feeling?" Marissa asked Crum. "You worked yesterday."

"I feel fine," he reported. "But I didn't eat anything here. I was due at Thanksgiving dinner at my sister's. She would have killed me if I didn't show up hungry."

"I ate here yesterday, and I'm fine," Chuck announced.

"Me, too," Marissa added in somewhat disbelief.

"Chuck, exactly what did you eat?" Bernie asked, believing they were onto something.

"I had some ham and rolls. And I had piece of pie," Chuck reminisced.

"I had the ham, too," Marissa recanted. "And I ate some of the mashed potatoes and broccoli."

"And what did you save for Gary?" Bernie continued his interrogation.

Chuck answered, "Oh, he got the works. The ham was gone, but he had turkey, homemade stuffing, mashed potatoes and gravy, broccoli, cranberries and some pumpkin pie."

"Were there raw eggs added into the stuffing?" Lois asked.

"Yeah, I think there were," Chuck flippantly replied. "Why?"

"Was the stuffing cooked inside the bird?" Lois asked with a pensive tone to her voice.

"But of course," Chuck replied. And then, he became a little defensive. "That's the way you're supposed to cook it."

"Uh, not unless you want to risk food poisoning your guests," Lois countered with some sarcasm in her voice. She could not believe she was educating her son's best friend who worked in a bar/restaurant on basic food safety. After all, her son was lying ill in bed perhaps because of someone's stupid mistake. "I've cooked many a holiday dinner. If it is food poisoning, my guess is it came from either undercooked turkey or from undercooked stuffing that contained raw egg."

"Gary _loves_ stuffing," Bernie added, as his mind continued to put things together, certain his son would have eaten the suspected culprit.

"Marissa," Crum added, "I think we need to do some immediate questioning of employees and customers who got sick to find out what they ate. It's better that we do the questioning before the Health Department does."

"Agreed," answered a very concerned Marissa.

Marissa and Crum turned to leave and go downstairs and take care of their task at hand. However, as they were leaving, Chuck pulled Marissa aside and asked her in a whisper how the Paper was doing. Earlier that morning, Chuck had already successfully prevented an injury accident on North Franklin caused by a blowout and a hit and run at the intersection of Ontario and Wabash. Marissa whispered back that the Paper was quiet … at least for now.

As soon as Crum left the room, Bernie began to grill Chuck. "How's the Paper?"

"Ahhhhh, first things first," Chuck artfully shifted subjects. "I brought a thermometer. Gary doesn't have one."

Chuck handed the digital instrument to Gary's mom. She went over to Gary's bed and woke her son briefly, long enough to ask him to open his mouth and hold the thermometer under his tongue. Still out of it, Gary did as his mother asked. After ten seconds under his tongue, the thermometer beeped. Lois removed it from Gary's mouth to read it, and he immediately went back to sleep.

"102.8," Lois announced, and she then began to carefully remove one of the blankets from her son's sleeping form without waking him. His face, that had been so pale earlier that morning, was now flushed with fever.

"If it's food poisoning," Bernie remarked, "Gary needs rest. Okay, Chuck, now what about the Paper?"

"Look, Bernie," Chuck puffed his chest out in an effort to almost laughingly show dominance over the older man who was head taller, "Marissa and I have the Paper all under control. You and Lois need to take care of Gary, and we'll take care of the Paper."

"Chuck," Bernie gave his son's friend an almost meek smile, "Lois is taking extra good care of our son. I … I'm not good at the nursemaid sort of thing," he stammered. "I feel so useless and helpless just standing here doing nothing but worrying, and I want to help Gary, too. Look at him over there."

Bernie pointed to his son lying in the nearby bed. Their hero did not look very heroic. Quite the contrary, he looked very vulnerable with his mother hovering over him.

"You know Gar. He _never_ gets sick." Bernie repeated the mantra of the day. "For him to not be out there saving lives today … something has kicked his butt but good. He needs our help … all of our help." Then, his tone changed to almost a parental one. "The next time you have to go out, take me with you. Crum and Marissa are here if Lois needs help with Gary. Or we could split up, and you can take one and I'll take the other. But please, Chucko … you have to allow me the dignity of helping my own son when he needs me."

Chuck thought about what Bernie said. "Hey, Lois," Chuck interrupted his own thoughts. "Would you be on board with that?"

"Sure I would," she answered. "But would you two help me try and get some more ice chips into Gary and keep an eye on him while I eat my sandwich before you take off?

The unlikely partners happily complied with Lois' request.

_Later that evening …_

It was just shy of 6 o'clock. Bernie and Chuck left about an hour before to try and stop a young man in the Paper from jumping into the river near the North Avenue Pier.

Lois had turned on a couple of lights in her son's place. Gary had been sleeping for hours while his mother picked up his flat and gave his kitchen and bathroom a thorough cleaning with disinfectant that was worthy of any white glove inspection. She was determined to kill every germ within proximity of her ailing son. As she moved on to her next task of putting away his freshly cleaned laundry, she heard her son begin to stir from the bed.

"Mom?" Gary croaked. His voice sounded both raspy and panicked. "I'm gonna throw up." The look on his face was as bad as he felt.

"Hold on, son," Lois said, running over to him with the empty bowl. "Here you go," she continued, as she held the bowl near his mouth and tried to help him sit up.

Then, she instinctively rubbed small circles on his back to try and comfort him. Gary felt very hot to her touch. Heat radiated from beneath his t-shirt. He began to wretch and wretch until he did indeed throw up into the bowl.

"Oh, my," Lois exclaimed at the sight of the yellow contents of his stomach in the bowl. She focused on remaining calm. "That's bile." Then, after this bout of retching stopped, she helped her weakened son lie back down.

"I'm c-c-cold," Gary whispered, his eyes were heavy and rife with fever. "I ... I feel ... so ... b-b-bad," he managed to get the words out, almost in tears. Then, he began to shiver in hard chills, and his red-rimmed eyes had become glassy and hollow. "Stay ... p-p-please," he whispered through chattering teeth. He could feel himself slipping away.

At that same instant, Cat jumped up onto the bed from out of nowhere and began incessantly meowing.

"I'm here," Lois cupped Gary's shivering face, trying to reassure her son. She tried to hold back her tears and hide her alarm at how quickly he had taken a turn for the worse. "I'm not going anywhere." She quickly covered his shivering form with another blanket and then, frantically began punching numbers into the phone on Gary's nightstand. "Marion, we need to get Gary to the hospital, now!" she spoke softly but firmly into the receiver.

"We can get him there faster than calling an ambulance, Lois," Crumb said. "I'll be up there in a minute after I pull the van around out front."

_Emergency Room …_

Lois and Crum sat in a waiting room near the Emergency Room entrance. Lois wanted to stay with Gary, but the attending physician would not allow it because he thought Gary might be contagious. Lois told the doctor she thought that was ridiculous because she had already been in close contact with her son all day. So, the doctor put a mask on Lois and asked her to go and sit out in the waiting room. She was relieved to learn that at least her son now had an IV and was receiving much needed fluids and medications to bring his fever down.

Lois' cell phone began to ring. It was McGinty's.

"Lois, this is Marissa. I need to tell you something about Gary," Marissa said.

"We don't know anything yet," Lois relayed, misunderstanding what Marissa had just said. Worry was still heavy in her voice. "Have you heard from Bernie? He needs to be here with his son."

"Chuck and Bernie are on their way to the ER. They finished up at the bridge a few minutes ago. It was a happy ending," Marissa tried to be reassuring, as Lois had held up like a champ ... until now. Then, she continued speaking very precisely. "Lois, I need you to listen to me very carefully. Gary's in the Paper. The food poisoning is in the Paper. It says they are going to screw up a lab test and diagnose Gary with the wrong contagion. What he has is salmonella food poisoning. They need to be treating him for salmonella ... _now_. They can't wait for the wrong lab results to come back and give him the wrong treatment. You've got to convince them to start treating him now for salmonella."

"Oh, my God," Lois exclaimed. "Is my son going to die?"

"No," Marissa explained firmly. "Because you are going to make sure that he doesn't. You are going to correct their error so that it never happens. The Paper can be changed. Gary changes the outcome for others every day. Now, it is your turn to change the outcome for him."

A few minutes after Lois disconnected the call from Marissa, a winded Chuck and Bernie came barreling through the waiting room.

"We got here as soon as we could," Bernie hugged his wife. "What is this?" he asked, pointing to her mask. "Where is Gary? Can we see him?"

Surmising how upset Lois was from the phone call she just received, Crum began to fill in the latest arrivals. He then noticed that Lois wanted to speak to her husband and Chuck in private.

"I can take a hint," Crum said to all of them. "It's time for your secret, psychic stuff. I'm going to go and buy a cup a coffee. Does anyone else want me to bring them one?"

"Yeah," Chuck replied. "I'll take a cappuccino, low foam, and a biscotti."

"Yeah, right," Crum was sorry he asked. "I'm buying from the coffee machine. They don't have frou-frou coffee drinks in the coffee machine."

"Oh," Chuck said, un-offended at the obvious slight. "Then, I'll take a Sprite and a package of Skittles."

"I'm fine," Bernie said.

Lois echoed that she didn't want anything. As soon as Crum was out of earshot, Lois told the two of them what Marissa had just told her about the Paper.

"We've got to tell Gary's doctors," Bernie said.

And the three of them quickly walked over to the ER desk.

"We're the family of Gary Hobson," Bernie began. We need to speak with his doctor immediately. We have important information Gary's doctor needs to know."

The charge nurse looked the three of them up and down: Lois in her home made, overly colorful knit cap and scarf, Bernie in his overalls, and Chuck in his beret. The way they were dressed made them look like cartoon characters, difficult to take seriously.

"How about you pass the information to me, and I'll make sure it gets to the doctor?" the charge nurse insisted.

The Hobsons looked at one another and shrugged their shoulders.

"My son has salmonella ... food poisoning," Bernie said. "The doctor needs to be treating him now for salmonella." He enunciated the last word.

"And just how do you know that?" the charge nurse now had her hands on her hips. "Are you a doctor?"

"I am Inspector Charles Fishman from the County Health Department," Chuck interrupted them all with authority in his voice. "Gary Hobson, among others, was poisoned yesterday by ingesting some contaminated stuffing served at a Thanksgiving dinner held at McGinty's Bar."

"He's telling the truth," Lois added from underneath her paper mask. Her eyes were wide with excitement. "Gary was poisoned from salmonella. Some idiot tried to cook stuffing made with raw eggs inside the bird, can you believe that?"

Chuck chimed in, "Uh, yeah, some idiot made many innocent people really sick. We've been investigating the complaints involving McGinty's all day. This patient, Gary Hobson, is just the tip of the iceberg. You could see many more patients coming into the Emergency Room over the next 48 hours, contaminated by the same, incompetent establishment."

Chuck knew he was shooting himself in the foot with the restaurant, but he had to do it to save Gary.

"Well if that's true," began the charge nurse, "then the local hospitals would be notified."

"That's not true during the holidays," Chuck countered. "You know as well as I do how the wheels of bureaucratic institutions such as the Cook County Health Department come to a grinding halt over a holiday. But then again, you never heard that from me." Chuck then gave the nurse a knowing look. "The Department was closed yesterday and today except in cases that are an emergency. The McGinty complaints are just now becoming an emergency. You need to be treating Gary Hobson for salmonella ... now. Give him the correct treatment now, and catch up on the proper, delinquent paperwork next week, after the holiday."

After listening to Chuck, the charge nurse seemed to have changed her mind about the three who stood before her. "I'll go find Mr. Hobson's doctor."

She left Gary's parents and friends with some guarded hope.

_Two Days After Thanksgiving …_

It had been a long night. The Hobsons finally went back to McGinty's to catch a few hours of sleep, but not before the attending physician came out to speak with the family. He began treating Gary for salmonella and more importantly, Gary was already responding well to the treatment.

In the morning, the Hobsons, Chuck, and Marissa headed over to the hospital together. The Paper arrived with Cat at Gary's house, and it appeared to be giving Gary a break today.

Everyone was allowed to visit for a few minutes so long as they wore face masks, just as Lois had to wear. As they walked into Gary's hospital room, they immediately saw he was still sleeping and that he was hooked up to a monitor and a finger pulse oximeter for heart rate and oxygenation levels. He was still hooked up to his IV, and a blood pressure cuff periodically inflated to take his blood pressure. The sleeping hero looked gaunt and pale from his ordeal, but his face looked much more peaceful than the last time Lois saw him. She studied his stats on the monitor while Chuck brazenly looked at his chart

"His temperature was last down to 99.4 and his other vitals seem to be normal," Chuck informed the others.

"Thank you, Dr. Fishman," Marissa quipped.

The voices in the room soon woke Gary. He opened his eyes and looked up at the faces of the people in the room, disoriented.

"Hi, son," Bernie was the first to notice. "You sure know how to give us all a good scare."

"You are doing so much better this morning, Gary," Lois added standing near his bedside, brushing his hair away from his forehead. "Do you remember much about what happened yesterday?"

Both his parents were very happy to see their boy awake.

"I got sick," Gary uttered, his voice still raspy from the multiple bouts of vomiting, "really sick." He noticed everyone had masks on their faces and suddenly became alarmed.

"You sure did," his mom confirmed. "You got food poisoning from some idiot who does not know how to cook a Thanksgiving dinner."

Chuck chimed in to cover his own tracks. "Yeah, some idiot."

"What's with the masks?" Gary asked.

"You don't want what we got, and we don't want what you got," Bernie explained. "It's a precaution. You know how hospitals are."

Satisfied with his father's explanation, Gary then suddenly noticed the clock on the wall. "Oh, no," he gasped. "The Paper!"

Marissa came closer to Gary's bedside. "Don't worry about the Paper, Gary. It seems to be giving you a break today. You can read it for yourself when you're feeling better."

"But what about yesterday?" Gary wanted to know, still somewhat disoriented. "I was too sick to even look at it."

"We handled the crap out of that Paper, yesterday" Chuck proudly reported. "You don't have anything to worry about except to get better."

"Thanksgiving dinner," Gary suddenly remembered, holding his head in his hand. "I remember being hungrier than I can remember being in a long, long time. And then you left me a plate in my fridge, Chuck. The food didn't taste like it had anything wrong with it. It was really good."

Marissa explained, "Your doctor said that's probably why the salmonella hit your system so hard. You were hungry, so you ate a lot of it, and you didn't have any other food in your stomach to protect you from the bacteria."

"So, now are you all going to be onto me about eating regular meals … which you know is hard to do with the Paper?' Gary brought the subject up first.

"No," Marissa answered. "We're just going to be onto you about not eating from Chef Chuck's holiday menus."

"That's right, buddy," Chuck confronted the charges. "There'll be no more gifts of leftovers from me. I'm giving up cooking. I'll leave all that to the kitchen staff from now on."

"Is that a promise?" Lois asked Chuck with a smile on her face. "For the sake of all of McGinty's patrons: past, present, and future?"

Watching Chuck squirm, Gary smiled the same smile as his mother and asked, "And for the sake of your partner, too?"

The little chide from Gary was the best sign yet that he was definitely on the upswing, and they all began a much needed laugh at Chuck's expense. Just at that moment, the Cat jumped up onto the hospital bed, out of nowhere. He loudly purred and purred, rubbing up against Gary in utter approval. Glad to see the little guy, too, Gary petted the little fur ball behind its ears.

~fin


End file.
